Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Bulgakov's Fesiya is Goethe's Faust?

A recent commentator, Thomas, from the Dutch-speaking part of Belgium asked me a difficult question about my novella's dependence on Bulgakov:

You said your "story relies more on Bulgakov's retelling of Goethe's story in his inimitable magnum opus, The Master and Margarita".

Actually I've always been enormously intrigued by Boelgakov's work, and in particular by its relation with Goethe and the Faustian theme. The formal and "superficial" allusions are clear enough, but could you tell me more about the deeper substantive and thematic relation, beyond the central appearance of Satan as such for example, and the love between the Master and Margarete? Thanks a lot for any information on that point.

I don't actually know very much about that, but the question got me thinking:

I'm no expert, and thus offer no depth, but Margarita seems the one bargaining with Satan (Woland) over the Master and his manuscript.

That looks like a reversal of roles, but I'd need to re-read with that in mind to see what is implied by this reversal.

The Master seems oddly un-Faustian, weak-willed and dependent. If there's a Faust in this tale, it would appear to be Margarita, except that she's playing both roles -- Faust and Gretchen.

Recently I read in a Boelgakov comment that in the primitive version of the novel, the Master was a certain Fesija, a savant who was concerned with medieval satanic arts, and standing much closer to the Goethean Faust. This figure of Fesija is supposed to have been inspired by the religious philosopher Pavel Florenski (1882-1937), who was arrested in 1928.

Later on the Master became in the first place Boelgakov himself (or maybe Gorki).

In Bulgakov's early versions of the novel the part of the Master was played by Fesiya, a wise man who was interested in the devilry from the Middle Ages and the Italian Renaissance. Fesiya was occupied with demonic powers much more than later the Master, he was much closer to Goethe's Faust. Fesiya was probably inspired by the philosopher Pavel Alexan-drovich Florensky (1882-1937), who was arrested in 1928.

I found that information on the website Master and Margarita, a site I'm familiar with, though I wasn't familiar with this particular page.

Anyway, I presume the final version of The Master and Margarita is standing further from the original Faustian theme than the title and external story elements suggest, Jeffery. Maybe even further than the other story you were referring to, the tale of the Edenic fall. But that story is not really 'abendlandisch'. At least Spengler distinguishes clearly the culture of "das Abendland", which he calls "Faustian" (!), from what he calls the "eastern-magical" culture. This is making still more interesting your suggestion about the Old-Testament tale...

You might be interested in Remi Brague's Eccentric Culture: A Theory of Western Civilization. He argues that the West's identity derives from 'eccentric' sources, namely, Athens and Jerusalem. He's not the first to argue this, of course, but he has an intriguing twist to it.

Here's the Amazon site. But perhaps you would prefer it in the original French?

Thanks for the tip, Jeffery. (It strikes me that the English translation is only published some 20 years after the French original!)By the way, it just comes up to me that in the Edenic tale the figure that can be seen as "bargaining" with satan is in the first place Eve, just as you remarked in the case of Margarita! What is your opinion at this point?

I never heard of that Bulgakov play before, Jeffery! Its themes seem to be not so far from The Master and Margarita, and therefore the play might indeed be quite interesting for the interpretation of Bulgakov's magnum opus! In Adam and Eve we have also the lone and gentle male genius (professor), the caring woman, falling in love in a world without rules and leaving the other dirty world behind. But the whole strengthens my feeling that Bulgakov's major concern was a political and social one, more than an ethical or metaphysical (as in Goethe). Or do I overlook something?

The title of Remi Brague's book about Europe, The eccentric culture, reminds me of the book of Alain Finkielkraut, L'identité malheureuse, where I read the following (in French): "At the question 'What makes the europeanity of Europe?', the German sociologist Ulrich Beck answers today: the cosmopolitism. In other words, the identity of Europe is not to have an identity."Do you know Beck or Finkielkraut, Jeffery?

Sorry, Jeffery, I was confused: now I understand what you mean. And I think your remark is very interesting. In that sense the whole EU project maybe is a contradictio in terminis from the beginning. I see the reaction against the so called oikophobia not as a plea for strict political nationalism, but as a plea for identity...

Let me give you an example, Jeffery. This very morning I read in an important Flemish newspaper about a readers attack against a journalist who had made in his article a - totally unintended and innocent - remark about the name of a performing artist (Cherkaoui): "maybe not so easy to pronounce or to remember". The attacked journalist needed a full page to justify and apologize, because he had not taken into account the readers that have the same difficulty with a name as 'Frankie De Smet'... Oikophobia?

The problem is identity, Jeffery, or the concept "we". Saying "we" has become problematic, if not dangerous in our "culture". Each time we say "we", we should very carefully consider what we are saying to whom, at risk of being accused for "racism". And I realize that even these "we's" were not without risk. ;) Today, a history teacher e.g. should mind his words when speaking of "our ancestors" in front of his pupils. That's what you could call a "culture" of oikophobia...

What interests me most in Milton's Paradise Lost (which I never read myself), is its relation with the original story. Notably two things are intriguing me in particular. First the "sexist" question, and secondly the Tree of Knowledge business. In how far is this all "Hineininterpretierung"? I'm curious to know your general opinion on these things.

I presume you misunderstood me, Jeffery. Or maybe I did. Anyway, I don't see any 'prejudice'. My question was regarding the eventual evolution of the old story through "western" culture. Nevertheless, I should indeed read the Milton poem myself asap.

My apologies, Thomas, I was indulging in a bit of intellectual humor, but the punchline was rather obscure, dependent upon Gadamer's meaning of "Vorurteil" -- i.e., prejudgment is a necessary condition of our epistemological circumstance, and is in fact a positive condition since it means that one has some knowledge already.

Reading the epic poem by Milton will require a lot of time and effort -- the English will sound somewhat archaic -- but the rewards are great.

My story alludes to many other literary works, some explicitly but others implicitly . . .

By pure coincidence, which I don't believe in anyway, the very moment I found your last reaction (about Gadamer and "Vorurteil"), I was reading the following sentence in Finkielkraut's book I mentionned above:"L' a priori, en l'occurence, n'est pas un préjugé, c'est une condition de l'intelligence. Ainsi s'opère la transmission de la culture, ainsi découvre-t-on l'Enéide, le Roi Lear ou A la recherche du temps perdu."(At least Finkielkraut distinguishes 'a priori' and 'prejudice'... ;)) He only had to have added Paradise Lost. And The Master and Margarita. And of course Faust. And... I think I begin to understand more and more your initial Derrida quote, Jeffery...

About Me

I am a professor at Ewha Womans University, where I teach composition, research writing, and cultural issues, including the occasional graduate seminar on Gnosticism and Johannine theology and the occasional undergraduate course on European history.
My doctorate is in history (U.C. Berkeley), with emphasis on religion and science. My thesis is on John's gospel and Gnosticism.
I also work as one-half of a translating team with my wife, and our most significant translation is Yi Kwang-su's novel The Soil, which was funded by the Literature Translation Institute of Korea.
I'm also an award-winning writer, and I recommend my novella, The Bottomless Bottle of Beer, to anyone interested.
I'm originally from the Arkansas Ozarks, but my academic career -- funded through doctoral and postdoctoral fellowships (e.g., Fulbright, Naumann, Lady Davis) -- has taken me through Texas, California, Switzerland, Germany, Australia, and Israel and has landed me in Seoul, South Korea. I've also traveled to Mexico, visited much of Europe, including Moscow, and touched down briefly in a few East Asian countries.
Hence: "Gypsy Scholar."